Dr Crane's Last Chance
by WitchyWanda
Summary: Dr. Jonathan Crane has gotten one last chance to prove his worth as a psychologist in Arkham Asylum. He's managed to get pretty far, too.. until he meets his newest patient. Drabble.


**Dun dun dunn...dramatic musiiiic..** I decided to put up my other drabble fic I did. XD It is also PROBABLY NOT GOING TO BE CONTINUED, but it was a good plot, if I may say so myself.. Crane taking Harley's place in TDK version since she doesn't exist.. Hm. It COULD happen.

But don't fret, my other fanfic I'm working on _will_ be Joker and Crane centered. And hehehee.. things are gonna get goooood~ *loves taunting people with what she knows and others don't* ;P

Until then, enjoy this!

Oh yeah, and

**I OWN NOTHING.**

* * *

**8)**

Dr. Jonathan Crane situated himself in the plush arm chair so he was comfortable. _That _was an easy task; the chair practically swallowed him into its cushions. Sighing with calmness emanating from him, he pressed the red button on his intercom on the desk.

"Karen, I'm ready. Go ahead and bring the sub-- er patient up to my office."

He released the button while at the same time biting down on his lower lip in irritation.

"Subject..? What were you thinking?" He gave a harsh quick scoff, "No, you _weren't _thinking. It was just a reflex."

The doctor glared into space. "And not _your _reflex, either."

Shaking his head, the thin man quickly removed himself from the chair. The chairs comfort wasn't working, and it never would, no matter _how_ hard he tried to make it. So, he turned and swiftly walked over to the back wall of his office, which was completely made of glass windows. A classy addition he never had last time.

Last time…

Last time he'd been a top notch professional psychologist at Arkham Asylum.

_Now_, he was starting over. And it had only taken two years for him to get back to this lush position under Dr. Jeremiah Arkham's good graces.

This time, he would do things _right_, he would do things _perfectly_, and he wouldn't _ever _use _**Scarecrow**__ ever _again!

…Which was why he was very disappointed in himself for almost slipping.

_Almost._

And that. Wouldn't. Do.

They were _really_ counting on him this time. Dr. Arkham, his other colleagues, and even the patients.

Speaking of patients, he'd practically _flown_ through all of the various types of patient cases in the asylum with flying colors, and was now able to treat and diagnose the best of the--

No, no no.. That probably wasn't the right saying to use in _this _situation.

To be completely and utterly honest, it'd be the worst of the worst.

The type of patient that, so far, only Dr. Arkham himself had even _wanted _to try treating, and even _that _hadn't gone too well from what the man had told Crane the day he'd given him the assignment.

After explaining to Jonathan the situation at hand, Arkham had looked straight into his eyes and told him firmly, "Believe it or not, Jon, you are my last thread of hope for _any _kind of treatment and diagnosis on him. If _you _can't manage him and _I _can't manage him... Well, the only alternative I could see would be permanent restriction in solitary confinement and sedation."

Jonathan had felt his stomach clench and his heart flutter. He licked his suddenly dry lips and quietly asked, "Has.. anyone _ever _survived on just _that _alone?"

Arkham just looked down at his folded hands on his desk.

The silence stretched on way too long to be considered normal for any situation. It reeked of fear and hesitance that made Crane want to take back his question all together.

"I don't know."

They made eye contact once again. Arkham was shaking his head for some reason. Slowly.

"We've _never _had any patients permanently placed in solitary and sedated. It.."

His eyes closed on Jonathan and he seemed to have let out an odd sounding breath.. sigh? It had a shudder to it.

"It's been considered.. inhumane."

Crane never asked on that day if it would be considered inhumane in _this_ certain patient's case.

At the time he'd thought it'd be rude and earn him a glare from the other doctor. Now, after having read the patient's file and interviewed all the other doctors- and some nurses –who'd tended to him, Jonathan knew there'd be _nothing _inhumane about just locking this patient up and throwing away the key; forgetting about him for good.

In fact, forgetting about him was something Crane knew the entire populous of Gotham City would like to do.

_Like to_, but probably never would.

So, Jonathan was going to give this predicament his very best.

That is.. if he could just keep Scarecrow out of it.

He wanted _out_. He wanted to _play_.

After what he'd learned on his new patient, Scarecrow was practically jumping in place in his mind, like a child who was window shopping, saw a shiny new toy, and immediately wanted it.

"But," Jonathan thought to himself with a grim little smirk on his face, "This "toy" is highly dangerous and hazardous to our... _my _health."

At the little slip the man sighed and lifted a hand to rub at his right temple. "Please don't let this happen now.." He murmured softly, pleadingly.

A smooth voice purred in his mind, loud and clear, _"_You_ can not handle him, but _I _could. Let me _out_, Jon._"

It was an order, and Jonathan was _not _going to stand for that.

"No. This is _my_ session, _my _patient, _my _job. You had your chance to be someone," He opened his eyes and stared at his reflection in the glass windows before him, "and you _failed_. I had to clean up after you. _No way _am I ever letting you out aga--" He cut himself off immediately when he saw, through the reflection of the glass, movement on the other side of the room.

Two people's reflections beside his own, by the door.

Closing his eyes, the doctor took a breath slowly in and then out before calmly asking, "How long have you been standing there?"

He was obviously only addressing one person: The nurse he'd called earlier to bring up his assigned patient for their first session. But clearly, said patient wanted not only to speak, but to do so in order to make an impression right away on his assigned doctor.

"From the sad li**tt**le _"Please don't let this happen now"_ part, to the-uh _firm _and po_ssess_ive _"My patient, my job, you had your chance and you failed" _bi**t**. I gotta say, doc, I think I _like _you already."

Near the end of this little jab, Jonathan turned around to face the new-comers, and coolly smiled at the one speaking.

"Good." Was all he decided to say to that.

He looked at the nurse who'd brought him in, "Thank you, Karen. I'll call you when the session is over."

At the corner of his eye, he saw the patient's eyebrows lift and mouth open a little before the man chose to speak up once _again_. Only, to address the nurse this time as well, "Ahh, _Kar_en. So that's your name." He briefly shot Jonathan a smile, "Thanks, doc. I kept _won_dering and guessing all the way here what my-uh own nurse's name was. She'd never _say _for some.. _funny _reason."

Karen wasn't looking at the patient addressing her at all. She was now glaring lasers into Crane, and the man- for once –couldn't blame her.

He pressed and straightened his suit and dusted off his shoulders to distract himself from the nurse's glare, then loudly cleared his throat, "Right, well, thank you again and.. you may go now."

Jonathan looked straight into her eyes, his cold blue ones trying to send the message that he _was _dearly sorry, he hadn't _known_, and that she'd better leave now so that he could get this show on the road.

The nurse promptly lifted her chin, released her strong grip on the patient's straitjacket-covered arm, and turned to practically march out the door. She didn't slam the door surprisingly, which made Crane stare at it longer than he should have. Because the next thing he knew, his whole view was taken up by white, bright red, and pitch black grease paint.

His whole face was _covered _in the stuff, and then some. Jonathan spotted in the corner what he could tell was more white paint covering up an ear, and.. was that a ear piercing? No, no. That couldn't be.

"So doc," the man practically breathed in Crane's face. Interesting.. It smelled like orange juice, "are you gonna start with the-uh _psy_cho-analyzing, or wha**t**?"

The good doctor's face remained rather blank. Or, at least, he hoped it had. He took only one step backward and then lifted an arm to gesture over to his desk where a chair sat in front of it.

"Please, nothing like that is going to happen. At least not on the first day.. Mr. Joker." He gave a small warm smile. Probably the only one he was _ever _going to give this patient. "I merely wish for you to tell me about yourself. I guess.. you could say I want _you_ to psycho-analyze your_self_. Now, if you will, sit."

After his little explanation, the man's painted face went through a series of at least- from what he could tell –three emotions: Amusement - The one he'd been using mainly the whole time he was here so far, curiosity – likely in Jonathan, which he wasn't surprised at at all. He got that _all _the time. And then, his face transformed into an expression Crane never would have thought the so-called mad, psychotic, sociopathic, murdering clown was capable of: Blankness.

Just utter nothing-ness.

It was, as if the man before him had suddenly been transformed into a human-sized doll with beady little black eyes to boot.

(Were they dark green or black? Were black eyes even possible?!)

The doctor quickly ran his last words through his head, wondering what he'd said to be rewarded with this reaction in his patient. Because he knew, in cases like the Joker, there was always the possibility for just one. single. word to trigger something negative. Although, in this case, Crane wasn't completely sure if it _was _a negative response or not.

Unfortunately, he was out of time for figuring it out on his own, for the man suddenly broke through his deep and rapid thought process with just five simple words. But out of the clown-faced man's red-painted lips, it seemed more like a warning.

A warning Jonathan instantly knew he should heed.

"I am _no_**t **your dog."

After that quiet statement, the patient surprisingly went right over and took the offered seat anyways.

Perhaps, Jonathan hopefully thought, the man known only as The Joker was giving him this one warning because they had just met and had only just begun, and maybe- Crane only hoped on _this _one by a thin thread –also because he was interested in Jonathan as much as Jonathan was interested in him.

And finally, his last idea before he turned to sit at the desk himself:

Maybe the Joker just wanted to screw with him like he did with everyone else in the asylum.

He had no reason to treat Jonathan Crane any different, at least as far as Crane could see himself, so he probably wouldn't treat him different, would he?

A small, small spot in Jonathan's mind, near the back where the _other one_ was lurking hoped otherwise.


End file.
